


WOUNDED WARRIER

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One cannot see the light without first having been in the dark.<br/>Pink Posse Arc</p>
            </blockquote>





	WOUNDED WARRIER

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist and do not have a medical degree.

                                                                                   
 

                                                                                                          PART I

_                “I know it makes no difference to what you’re going through, but I’ve seen the tip of the iceberg and I worry about you.” ©Peart,Lee,Lifeson _

 

     “Fuck me!”

      Not in the habit of turning down such a tempting invitation, Brian’s dick enthusiastically raised its head at the command.

      Like the ebb and flow of the earth’s tides, there’s a certain rhythm to the universe. People fuck or they don’t. People hurt or they don’t. The jumbled disjoint of notes and harmonies is a constant symphony in and around every person. You don’t know it, don’t even feel it—until shit happens.

      That’s why his sixth sense regarding all things Justin urged caution. The dark circles under the blue eyes, so prevalent lately, were more pronounced than usual. Even worse, the normally annoying effervescent personality had become flat and colorless, a monochromatic shadow of its former self. When an occasional spark did flare, it was tinged with fiery antagonism or icy cynicism.

      Clad in impeccably creased designer jeans, he had been staring at the computer screen for an hour revising the ad campaign for his newest account. That the task could have been finished in fifteen minutes was a moot point because unfortunately, the scene was a familiar one.

_                                                                               “This is the time when you need a friend. You just need someone near. _   
_                                                                 I’m not looking forward to the night I’ll spend thinking of you while you’re not here.” ©G.Russell _

      As he had for the past few nights, he needed something to keep his mind occupied, to keep his imagination from running away with him until the loft door groaned open and allowed him to breathe a little easier. Fuck! When did he ever have an imagination in his personal life? He’d spent years teaching himself to deal with what was, instead of what could be, even testing himself on occasion to learn his limits. Harsh reality dealt with fact. It was an intractable, cold bastard. That’s why they were a good pair—had been a good pair, anyway.

                                                                     

      He threw a furtive look at the restless ball of energy and couldn’t help but recall a recent happenstance meeting with Alex Wilder at Babylon. Happenstance on Alex’s end only, however. Smart enough to realize he needed guidance about this new and not improved Justin Taylor, Brian once again, albeit stealthily, sought out the doctor for advice.

                                                                                                        ****

From his vantage point at one end of the bar, he had spent a good amount of time watching the silver-haired man nurse a beer. Increasingly irritated with the sluggish consumption, he drummed his long fingers on the polished surface, their uneven clickety-clack a mere pantomime against the thumping din. But it was his inner reluctance to approach him that quickened the beat from restless impatience to chaotic frustration.

Decision made, he chugged the last of his own drink and weaved through the half-drunk, half-dressed crowd, ignoring the lascivious looks and invitations thrown his way. Sidling up to his preferred source of psychological information, he motioned to Greg, one of Babylon’s more savvy bartenders, for another round and stage-whispered, “I didn’t know you were on duty, Doc. Any slower, it’ll re-ferment.”

Without so much as a glance at Liberty Avenue’s studly stud, Alex finished the liquid in one gulp. Picking up the complimentary second bottle, he turned to Brian and raised it in a mock salute. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Brian shrugged. “Too painful watching you torture it.” He leaned against the bar, elbows on the edge, and scanned the room with affected disinterest.

There was a good reason Alex Wilder commanded the big bucks. Shrewdly assessing his sudden companion, the epitome of blasé indifference, he guessed this was no random hook up. When Brian ran a seemingly casual hand through his hair, he had no doubt. It was an unguarded gesture and Alex saw right through it. He hesitated before speaking, not knowing how to open a dialogue without the man feeling threatened. He needn’t have bothered. In true Kinney fashion, Brian was first out of the gate.

“What do you know about PTSD?”

Alex’s forehead creased in puzzlement. The question, so out of the realm of anything he would have considered, caught him off guard. To buy some time, he took a healthy swallow of chilled beer and gazed around the cavernous space. “The last time I looked this wasn’t my office.”

“You’re right. It was Woody’s,” Brian answered, smirk firmly in place.

Alex stifled what would have been an ill-timed retort. “Well, I don’t specialize in it. What do you want to know?”

“When does it show up?”

To the untrained ear, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the query—and the untrained ear would have missed it, the subtle nuance that Alex immediately heard. Anxiety. “There’s no time frame. Residual effects can show up right away, years later, or not at all. Depends on the person.”

“If someone has it, what do you do? How do you help them?”

“Again, it all depends on the person involved.” He frowned, aware that the vague answers ran the risk of unleashing the Wrath of Kinney. But his main concern was that Brian would shut down, his ‘I want it all and I want it now’ personality dissatisfied with their ambiguity.

True to form, Brian could barely conceal his annoyance. “Since I know you love to spout non-committal shrink bullshit almost as much as I hate hearing it, I’ll probably regret asking this. Can you be more fucking specific?”

Loath as he was to get into a pissing match, Alex couldn’t help but bristle at the accusation. “I can’t treat someone without seeing them,” he countered, standing his ground at the glare thrown his way. After waging a personal and professional war, he gave an exasperated whoosh of air. “Fine! The best I can do is throw out a few generalizations. You see if any of them fit your situation.” He wasn’t surprised at the quizzical brow. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know who you were talking about? Give me some credit, will you?” He rolled his eyes in condescension. “You’re gonna owe me big time for this, Kinney.” Instead of a sarcastic comeback, he received a curt _whatever,_ further proof that the normally unflappable man was stressed more than he let on.

“Okay. Off the record?” Brian gave a clipped nod and signaled to Greg for a much-needed refill.

“This will be easier to understand if you’re sober,” Alex chastised with a shake of his head. “Fuck! Never mind. Forget it. Here’s the deal. PTSD is a physical and emotional reaction to a frightening or life-threatening experience, like being bashed. How long it lasts or how it manifests itself depends on a person’s physiology and life history.” Not knowing if he would ever get another opportunity to speak so candidly, he had to make the most of it. He leaned closer to get his point across. “Everyone has a different pain threshold, physically and emotionally. The level of stimulus needed to trigger a reaction, the strength of the response, and the amount of time needed to return to rational thinking differs from person to person.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you following any of this?”

Brian took a long swig, grimacing as the liquor burned a path down his throat. “Perfectly! You always make more sense when I’m drunk.”

“So you’ve said before.”

“What are the symptoms?”

“The most common ones are insomnia, nightmares, and increased aggression. It’s almost as if a bio-chemical switch in the brain short circuits. Rational thinking becomes irrational. Thoughts and feelings are magnified by a heightened state of arousal.” He quipped, “Not sexual, by the way. Although it can be.” After pausing to drain his bottle, he added, “Cards on the table? If Justin has these symptoms now, it means he still hasn’t come to terms with what happened, still can’t wrap his head around it. He feels helpless and out of control.”

“So here’s the $64,000 question for all the nuts & balls. Wh—”

“Depends whose nuts and balls we’re talking about,” Alex couldn’t help but tease.

“If that’s an example of your pathetic comedic talent, I’d advise you not to give up your day job, Dr. Wilder. You’d never be able to con people into forking over their money the way they do now. Now, may I continue?”

Alex waved his hand with a flourish. “Be my guest.”

“What do I do?”

“Be there for him.”

Brian stared incredulously. “Are you shitting me? People actually pay you for this?”

“No, I’m not and yes, they do.” He couldn’t stop a playful smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I told you before, you’re his handsome prince. You’re his rock, the one he trusts. How you react to his behavior is going to play a big part in how he handles the situation.”

With a tight look of concentration, Brian rested his chin on his hand and disappeared into himself to digest the answer. Babylon’s ear-splitting cacophony was a mere whisper compared to his deafening silence. His invisible armor of self-protection wrapped itself around him in a matter of seconds, but not before Alex’s professional expertise caught a glimpse of the expressions that flitted across his face. It all took place in the blink of an eye—brows knitting together, lips folding in and out between teeth, jaw clenching and unclenching. And they corroborated what he had already suspected. Justin wasn’t the only victim of the bashing.

_                                                                                    “The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt.” Ayn Rand _

“You still with me?” he asked.

“Where the fuck else would I be?”

“You tell me.” Emotion now smothered beneath aloof sarcasm, Brian turned toward him and placed a tab of E on his tongue with an exaggerated movement. “Any other words of wisdom?”

Aware that his ‘patient’ had checked out of their conversation, preferring to use his own method of pain management, Alex rushed to continue. “One other point before I lose you to what’s on your tongue and that hot ass over there.” He nodded toward a dusky skinned raven with flowing black hair who had targeted Brian in his sight. “Sometimes PTSD victims go to the extreme to feel stronger and safer. They spend days and even nights taking self-defense classes and going to the gym. When the incident is a bias crime like Justin’s, some resort to activism as therapy, thinking if they do something about the social environment that brought about their own trauma, they can help others be less helpless. Many—”

“Activism? Cut the euphemistic crap, Alex. Let’s call it by its real name, what it really is: vigilanteism.”

Alex gave a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. “It can be if it gets out of hand. But most of the time it’s not a problem.”

Doing his best to ignore the sliver of apprehension slinking down his spine, Brian toyed with his glass, mesmerized by the slender index finger playing with its rim. “And the other times?”

Now we get to the crux of the matter, Alex realized. “The inner turmoil becomes a breeding ground for potential violence. They’re like a human pressure-cooker. The pent-up anger is so intense, it buries any desire to overcome the fear and helplessness. That’s when there can be trouble, when their behavior becomes a threat to themselves or others. Those usually don’t end well.”

Knowing that Justin’s aggression was a way of protecting himself against what he perceived to be an inner weakness didn’t alleviate Brian’s unease. Insight alone wasn’t going to be enough ammunition to stop him from pursuing his dangerous behavior. And that sobering knowledge raised an even bigger concern—whether or not he was a threat to others or to himself.

_“It’s not a matter of mercy. It’s not a matter of laws._  
                                                           _Plenty of people will kill you for some fanatical cause.” ©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_

                                                                                                     PART II _  
_

        _“Needles at your nerve ends crawl like spiders on your skin. Pounding in your temples and a surge of adrenaline._ _Every muscle tends to fence the enemy within.”©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_ _  
_

       Breathing in wispy snatches of air, Justin felt like an over-stretched rubber band. He ran a hand through his prickly spikes of hair hoping it would calm him down. It didn’t. It only fueled his outward arrogance and inflamed his inner rage. But that was okay. He wanted to brood, wanted to be angry. He just didn’t know why. With one hand curled into a white-knuckled fist and fingers from the other tugging at his shirt hem, he paced around the loft.

       Hoping to defuse the human time bomb, Brian relied on his modus operandi of choice, a flippant response. “Someone’s feeling frisky tonight.”   

       Justin’s demand was proving to be problematic. He shouldn’t even be considering it. He should be throwing out a life preserver of sanity in the middle of this emotional maelstrom. But blue-eyed heat and his own straining dick were making it impossible to think clearly.   

       Sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, Justin skidded to a halt and whirled to face him. He’s doing what he always does, he thought. Making a joke to lighten the mood, thinking it will lure me out of my head. But it won’t work this time. I’m not the same person. I don’t know if I ever will be.He planted himself in front of the desk, fidgeting like a recalcitrant child gearing up for a fight, and glared. “Well? Are you going to fuck me or not?” Too keyed up, he didn't bother to wait for an answer. His words tripped over themselves as they tumbled out, raising the hairs on Brian's neck with their venom.  “You know what? Forget it! I'll find someone else for the job. Obviously, you're having doubts that you can!” 

                                                                             

       _Little shit!_ Intellectually, Brian knew he was goading him, pushing all the right buttons to provoke him. He told himself to ignore it, tried to convince himself to be mature; but aspersions cast upon his virility had a way of shutting down rational thinking and transferring power from his head-brain to his penis-brain. Driven by the blow to his ego, he oh-so-conveniently reasoned that experience had taught him a valuable lesson. When Justin was wound up this tight, the best way to snap him out of it was to fuck it out. The defiant stance and flushed cheeks were powerful incentives to go with the tried and true. As if on cue, a flirtatious tongue peeked out. When it trailed provocative beads of moisture across a pouty lower lip, Brian shoved his misgivings aside.

       Letting Justin simmer, he leaned back in his chair, revealing a tantalizing patch of coarse hair through half-opened jeans. He took a lazy drag from his cigarette and blew a succession of perfectly formed smoke rings with feigned nonchalance. Deliberately avoiding eye contact, he fixed his gaze on the spiraling curls as they vanished into shadowy vapors. He didn’t have to see Justin’s face to know what he was thinking. _He’s trying to guess what I’m up to, what my game plan is. He’s about to find out._

                                                                                                    PART III

_“From a certain point of view, our real enemy, the true troublemaker, is inside.”_ _Dalai Lama_

Brian’s POV:    

       He stands before me, wild-eyed with lust, believing he wants nothing more than a fuck. But I see the unshed tears and feel his inner turmoil. Hands fisted at his side, he tilts his chin in an arrogant, almost combative way. He thinks I don’t understand, that I don’t know what he’s going through. Maybe he’s right. But he can’t imagine how it feels to be in _my_ shoes, helpless, watching Cody Monster take him by his gun and lead him down a primrose path to self-destruction. Part of me wants to smack some sense into him. The other part wants to fuck it into him. Short of locking him in the loft and throwing away the key, there’s nothing I can do except “be there for him” as Alex simplistically phrased it. Good thing I didn’t pay for that nugget of expertise.    

       When I saw the bruises on Justin’s back, I was so fucking furious that, ceramic tile over concrete notwithstanding, I almost sent my fist through the wall. Because for one mind-blowing, head-exploding iota of a second, I wondered if that was the only way to get through to him.

       And then I was terrified. Regardless how fleeting and incomprehensible the thought, the fact I even had it at all raised the ghosts of Brian Kinney Past from their resting place to circle my brain like a merry-go-round on steroids.   

       And then I was angry. Angry at his fucked up way of thinking that was making him do fucked up things and angry with him for making _me_ angry. Because Taylor the Terrible hasn’t been around much lately. When he is around, he’s such a prick I sometimes wish he weren’t.

       And then I was frightened. For him. His wires are so crossed he probably thinks blue is the new orange now. He only focuses on the external, on the effects of his actions. He can’t or won’t acknowledge the internal cause. He also won’t listen to anyone, particularly me. We seem to argue more than we fuck. Although when we do fuck, Mr. Tuff ‘n Stuff’s new attitude is fucking hot. But it’s not worth the price.

       And I was also frightened. For me. Because if anything happened to him, I don’t think I’d make it this time. No matter how hard I still try to convince everyone that I don’t do relationships and try to convince him that I can take or leave what we have in a heart beat, I can’t convince myself. I am, as always, adrift in a sea of indecision when it comes to Justin. How fucking poetic! After all this time, you think I’d be able to figure him out. Not so much. Not even close. If anything, he only confuses me more—about him and about myself.

Justin’s POV:   

     _“If the whole world is evil, then the tragedy that befell you is justified. But if good people do exist, then_ _your life will be unbearable because fate set a trap for you. It isn’t the light you want to recover, it’s the_ _certainty that there is only darkness.”_ _Paulo Coelho_     

       His smugness makes me want to vomit. I want to wipe that superior look off his face, show him firsthand what I’ve learned. Thanks to Cody, I’m not a bashed faggot anymore. He taught me that physical pain is nothing. If you don’t let go of your fear, you’ll always be a victim. Finding your rage gives you power. The sleeplessness and weird dreams are back, but I don’t know why. My mother wants me to “talk to someone.” Yeah, right! How the fuck am I supposed to talk about what’s in my head when I don’t know what’s in there? I can’t figure out what triggered them. Stockwell? Darren? Something else? I don’t have a fucking clue. They’re not as frequent as they used to be, but they’re freaking me out and screwing up my internal clock. That’s why I’ve been going to the gym at night. 

                                                                  

       I like pounding the crap out of a heavy bag. It feels good to hear the smack of my glove, to feel the impact reverberate through my arm. Makes me feel stronger, like I’m fighting back, giving as good as I get. I can hit as hard as I want—jab, uppercut, punch right—as often as I want. And I don’t have to apologize for doing it. Or for being me. Sometimes I feel as if I’m outside my body, watching someone else say and do these hurtful things. And Brian. God, Brian! What’s that song about hurting the one you love? I guess I’m a good example because he always seems to be the target. But I can’t stop them. What scares me is that I’m not sure I want to. How fucked up is that? He has no idea what I’m going through. He tries to understand but he can’t. No one can.

       I look at him and it takes all of my power not to beg him to fuck me.                                                                                                     

                                                                                                     PART IV

                                                                    _“Well, look who I ran into,” smirked Coincidence._

                                                                     _“Please,” scoffed Fate, “this was meant to be.”_ _A.Howell_

       Timing is everything in life, or so ‘they’ say.

       At precisely the same moment a frustrated Justin spun on his heel to stomp away, Brian sprung from his chair like a striking panther. With one fluid motion, his hand shot out and grabbed his arm, twirling him around.

      “Don’t you _dare_ walk away.” The controlled menace of his words rumbled through the loft like a runaway train—on a collision course with a hot-wired blond.

                                   _“Turn around and turn around. Don’t turn your back & slam the door on me.”  __©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_

       Despite the even tone, or maybe because of it, a rush of adrenaline revved Justin up beyond his personal redline. Hardened with more than anger, the potential of force behind the long fingers filled his head with white noise, and a wave of dizziness engulfed him. Struggling to free himself, he wanted to scream, but his clenched jaw only permitted a stifled, “Let go.”  

       Brian tightened his grasp with a pressure certain to leave blueberry and raspberry imprints on the creamy skin and bulled his way into Justin’s personal space. He closed the distance between them one threatening step at a time until they were mere inches apart. When his lips brushed Justin’s cheek, he felt him shiver. When they grazed the sensitive skin of his ear, he saw goosebumps spring up between the stubbled hairs on his face.

       Saccharine and smooth, he murmured, “Is that what you want, Sunshine? You _really_ want me to let go of you? You reallywant _just_ a fuck?” His expression turned ominous. “Or do you want to hurt on the outside the way you do inside?”  

       For the first time since Justin stormed into the loft, he saw uncertainty flicker in the blue eyes. But he also caught a glimmer of something else. Seizing the opportunity, he jerked him close, grinding their hips together, and smirked at the sharp intake of air and thickening length pressed against his jeans.

       He continued silkily, “There isn’t a place on your body I don’t know; no patch of skin I haven’t kissed, licked or sucked; no orifice I haven’t fucked, at least those my dick could fit in.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a mocking grin. “All with your wanton approval and perverted encouragement, in case you’ve forgotten.” Glints of golden fire pinned Justin like a laser. “You want me to fuck you so hard you can’t think, don’t you?”

       Justin drew in a ragged breath. Hostility ate at him like corrosive acid. He hated himself for gasping at the contact, hated himself for his raging hard-on, and hated Brian’s commanding presence, made all the more intimidating by the licentious suggestivity on his face. Various strategies darted back and forth in his brain; but the willful aspect of his nature won out, refusing to capitulate. Standing his ground, he returned the fierce look with one of his own. He uttered a simple no in a hushed voice that neither man believed, a voice that swelled Brian’s cock with frustration.  

       When Justin boldly drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders, Brian also made a decision. He cupped his neck to hold him in place and cajoled the reticent mouth open with a tour de force performance worthy of an Oscar, had there been such a category. Granted unfettered access, he explored with abandon, executing the skillful seduction with the precision of a military mission, leaving his conquest dazed and panting for more. 

       He half-dragged, half-carried a thrashing Justin toward the bedroom and unceremoniously deposited him on the bed. When he attempted to get up, he shoved him back down, not forceful enough to hurt but forceful enough to send a message—he had little choice in what was going to happen. Divesting him of his shirt in record time, Brian started on his pants, giving a cautionary slap when he tried to stop him. After flinging them on the floor, he stood motionless at the foot of the bed, licking his lips with sensual swipes of his tongue.

       As slitted eyes raked over his nakedness, the back of Justin’s neck prickled with impending danger. But it didn’t stop an all-consuming hunger from crawling over his skin like ice crackles. Even though his reaction to the situation unsettled him, blood rushed through his veins when Brian shed his jeans. 

                                                                   

       Like a dangerous predator stalking its prey, Brian slithered onto the bed with an impressive display of rippling sinew. He braced himself on his arms, suspended above Justin, and rubbed their straining cocks together. Disturbingly calm, he asked, “Like that?”

                                                                         

       Justin made a sound halfway between a moan and a wheeze. “Do it already,” he snapped. Finding it difficult to stay centered, he mentally repeated Cody’s instructions like a mantra. _Make them think you’re giving in. Then fight with all you’ve got._    

       Brian abruptly stopped his torment and rose up on his haunches. Startled, Justin blinked in confusion. Why the fuck did he stop? He was on the verge of shooting a few well-aimed bullets about age and performance when Brian’s cold and calculating look chilled his bones. He saw something stir in the depths of the hazel eyes that darkened the golden flecks to chips of coal in the dim light, but he didn’t know what it was.

                                                                                      

       Without warning, Brian lunged forward to seize his wrists. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not your show. It’s mine. _I’m_ calling the shots.”

                                                                                   

       Suffocated by a dense cloud of illogical panic, Justin’s terror blinded him to everything except getting away. Adrenalized by fright and rage, he shifted the power paradigm with one strategic move. He pulled his legs up and using his thigh muscles, shoved Brian up and over, capturing his arms and flipping him on his back. Nostrils flaring in triumphant victory, he savored the startled look on his face. 

                                                    

      “Hmm, the twink’s learned a new trick,” Brian taunted, denying him the satisfaction that the maneuver surprised him. Maybe in the hopefully not-too-distant future if, _when_ Justin was himself again, he’d let him know how impressed he was. But not now. Definitely not now. 

       Justin gritted his teeth at the remark but stayed silent. He had more important things to do. Holding Brian’s upper arms in a vise-like grip, he reveled in his contracting muscles as he tried to break free. Riding the giddy high of control, he declared brazenly, “Oh, I’ve learned a thing or two. That’s only the beginning. Sometimes you have to just take what you’re going to get. As you said, ‘It’s not your show.’ Now it’s _mine_.”

                                                                          

       He teased and indulged himself until his own need almost swallowed him. Overflowing with self-confidence, he released one hand to reach for a condom. It was a tactical error. He had forgotten what Cody taught him from the very beginning of their sparring: never underestimate your opponent.   

       With strength born out of determination, Brian shifted his weight and reversed their positions in an instant. Leaning his elbows on Justin’s arms to pin them down, he swiveled his hips, wedging one knee then the other between his legs. “Now _you’ll_ take it,” he ordered.

                                                   

       Justin shuddered at the words and squeezed his eyes shut at their possible meaning. No amount of arching or writhing could dislodge him. If anything, his efforts only encouraged him to press down harder. Pinned by the weight, he felt the air squeeze out of his lungs.

       Tight-lipped and grim, Brian watched Justin twitch and twist in the sheets. The gut-wrenching tableau was a compelling argument against continuing. But even more compelling were the gruesome outcomes to his nightmarish scenarios if he didn’t. Although the thoughts physically sickened him, they provided the necessary jolt of reality to stay focused, to remember that this bullshit attempt to help was for Justin, and to pray that it worked. Driven by desperation, he schooled his face into a cruel mask. When he spoke, his words lowered the temperature in the room to below freezing. “Look at me, Justin.”

       Like a pop of blue electricity, Justin’s eyes flew open. He recoiled in shock at what he saw and stared in stunned disbelief.

                                                                                                 PART V

_“Driven to the margin of error, driven to the edge of control. Driven to the margin of terror, driven to the edge of a deep, dark hole.”_ _©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_

      “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find this?” Brian skated the cold steel languidly over Justin’s feverish cheek, down his heated neck, and across his pebbled nipples. “You didn’t tell me you had a new toy, Sunshine. What’s it for?” His mouth curled into a cruel smirk. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I know what its function is, but what the fuck is it _for_?”

       Reeling from the discovery, Justin was at a loss for words. He frantically searched the bold lines and sculpted angles of the handsome face for clues, but the chiseled planes refused to give up their secrets. Even more unnerving, Brian’s sphinxlike demeanor was yet another stark reminder that this was no ordinary man with whom he was involved.

      “Answer me!”  

        If Justin had any doubt about refusing, the cautionary tone advised him otherwise. Equally persuasive was the hand gripping his wrists, fingers digging into his skin, and the hand prodding his chest with the gun. Swallowing against a rising bile of fear, he stammered, “Nothing, okay? Fuck, nothing! It’s, it’s just to scare people.”

      “Like this?” Brian cocked the trigger. The quiet click ricocheted off the walls and boomed through the loft with more force than a cannon.

      “Wha—” Justin squeaked out a strangled gasp at the almost savage look on Brian’s face. He couldn’t remember if.... Fuck! Why couldn’t he remember if the gun was loaded? He was pretty sure it wasn’t. At least, he thought it wasn’t. But he couldn’t swear to it because, like a stopped up drain, his head overflowed with a thick sludge of confusion. He vaguely recalled conversations with Cody about guns and bullets but those disjointed facts were inseparably entwined with jumbled emotions. Suddenly uncertain where everything was heading, a memory from two years ago pierced his mental chaos with startling clarity. _The first time you came here, you didn’t know anything about me. I could have done anything to you. You could have been dead._ Beads of terror dripped down his forehead as he fought the hysteria threatening to consume him. Get a grip, Justin, he told himself. This is Brian, for fuck sake! He would never....

      “You want to fuck others the way you were fucked, is that it?” Brian glided the barrel up and down Justin’s cock. Seeing liquid bubble from the slit, he varied the speed of his strokes. With every pass of the black metal, it jerked and bobbed in the air; and as if connected by an unseen thread, his own dick pulsed in unison, mimicking each reflexive twitch.

       Lowering the gun, he circled Justin’s puckered hole with the muzzle, watching in rapt fascination as it involuntarily contracted at the touch. He pushed in ever so slightly. “You want to make them hurt? Make them pay?”

       Wincing at the intrusion, Justin scrabbled at the sheets to get away. This couldn’t be happening, he thought. What the fuck was Brian doing? “No, no! I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

     “You don’t? Then what the fuck do you need this for?” Carefully gauging Justin’s reaction, Brian edged the gun in farther, then pulled it out. In and out. In and out.

                                                           _“Happiness is a warm gun, baby.”_ _©Lennon/McCartney_

       Justin _wanted_ to repel him, wanted to fight him, even violently, to break the spell of mock brutality. But he wasn’t strong enough. Drowning in a bewildering and bizarre fascination that burned his soul and seared his flesh, he wanted life to swallow him, make him disappear. He choked out one word. _“Please.”_ But he didn’t know what he was begging for.

      Muscles quivering from the strain of holding Justin captive, Brian tossed the gun on the floor with a clattering clash of metal against wood. “Don’t fucking move,” he warned, grabbing a packet and ripping it open with his teeth. Second-guessing himself yet again, his hands shook as he sheathed himself with the pre-lubed condom. He threw Justin’s legs over his shoulders and broke through the initial barrier of the tight entrance in one swift thrust. Without taking a breath, he pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in with a ferocity that reduced Justin’s shriek to a muffled croak. He pounded him like a man possessed, his expertly angled stabs blurring the line between pleasure and pain.

       In the dimly lit bedroom, the sheen of sweat coating his skin took on a seductive glow. With every movement, droplets trickled from his brow, occasionally catching a beam of light filtering through the curtains. Like liquid gold, they formed rivulets down his cheek, some teetering on the end of his nose, others journeying to his upper lip.His body folded in half by the ruthless pummeling, Justin’s legs burned from the stretch. He was almost flipped upside down, feet over his head, to give Brian free reign to drive deeper, to zap him with mind-blowing jolts that scorched his hair and curled his toes.

      Surrounded by the sound of balls slapping his ass, the masculine scent of sex, the salty taste of perspiration, and the feel of heated flesh, Justin’s senses stripped away all conscious thought until what was left was pure sensation.

      Whirling in a vortex of lust and passion, Brian continued his relentless assault, every furious jab accompanied by a hopeful grunt and a silent prayer. Swifter. Deeper. Harder. Again and again. But in a perplexing dichotomy, the faster he thrust, the more time slowed—and then ceased, each man caught in the crosshairs of his own release as well as the other’s.

      The base of Justin’s spine tingled with an intense pressure that drew his balls taut against his body. With strobes of blazing white flashing behind his lids, a powerful surge of heat slammed into him. He came with a gutteral cry and spurted between them, muscles clenching around the dick in his ass. Trapped in the frenzy of Justin’s orgasm, every nerve in Brian’s body screamed for release. One last snap of his hips and he hurtled over the edge, erupting into the condom with Justin’s name on his lips.

                                                                                           PART VI

_         Peace can only be found when you give yourself permission to let go of what was, to understand what is, and to accept what will be. _

      After thundering heartbeats slowed and breathless pants softened, after brilliant hues muted and heated bodies cooled, there was the silence of normal.

    “You ok?” Brian bit his lower lip. Christ! What the fuck was he thinking?

      Peeking out from beneath the duvet, a blond head gave a silent nod.

     “I’m gonna take a piss.” Brian threw a sharp look at the pale face with its unseeing eyes. “Sure you’re ok?” Justin’s second nod did nothing to alleviate his concern. If anything, it tightened the fist-sized ball of fear in his chest.

     When he left the bathroom, he found Justin huddled on the sofa with the sheet wrapped protectively around him. “You want something to drink?”

     Without so much as a glance in his direction, Justin shook his head.

      Unable to stop an exasperated groan from slipping out, Brian headed toward the kitchen, the gentle slap of bare feet against polished wood the only sound in the loft. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and placed it against his heated forehead, hoping the chill could ward off an impending headache. He doubted it. Half expecting Justin to bolt, he gingerly sat down next to him and unscrewed the cap. He offered him the bottle, but received another negative and silent head shake. After a long swallow, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please don’t shut me out.”

    “Brian?”

     He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t rendered him mute. “What?”

   “You can’t tell me what not to do.”

    “I know,” he said helplessly, understanding the deeper meaning behind the words and reconciling them with firmly held beliefs and tenuous new emotions.

     The uncomfortable silence hung between them like a dewdrop suspended in air. Weighed down by a burden of guilt whenever Justin was concerned, he didn’t know how to ease his pain. He had his own, made barely tolerable by the oblivion of mindless sex and mind-numbing drugs. Those fleeting respites of peace freed him from a memory’s mental cage and allowed him to forget, if only for a while.

_ “And in the master’s chambers, they gathered for the feast.They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t kill the beast.”  _ _ ©Henley/Frey/Felder _

“Justin, you need—”

    “I know! Shit! I know I do. And I also know you’re worried, Brian. God, I don’t know how or why you’ve put up—” His voice cracked as he fought back tears. “Everything’s all mixed up in my head. I feel like I’m drowning in myself. I can’t stand it. I just want it to stop, you know?”

     Brian exhaled a puff of air. It was a start. “Yeah, yeah, I do. But it won’t stop if you don’t face what’s inside. Fuck! Everyone’s been sweeping it under the rug, hoping you’ll get better on your own. Even you and me, _especially_ you and me. We’ve been ignoring it, pretending nothing’s wrong. But something _is_ wrong. It’s eating you up, destroying you piece by piece. And despite your new superhuman strength,” his eyes glinted with a trace of humor, “you’re not strong enough to fight this by yourself. You can’t do it alone. _We_ can’t do it alone. That’s why we’re going to find a shrink and pay him a shitload of money to make you feel like you again.”

   “I thought you didn’t believe in shrinks?” Justin looked at him through narrowed eyes.

   “I don’t.” Brian planted his tongue in his cheek. “But sometimes a man has to know when to ask for help.” Exhausted from the evening, he sank into the luxury of the leather sofa. With hands clasped around the bottle in his lap, he stared at the ceiling and whispered, “We have to get past it somehow.”

    He cringed at Justin’s swift and disturbing response. The strangled bark of cynical laughter sounded like an animal refusing to accept his fate.

    Justin raised a skeptical brow as he reached for Brian’s water. “Get past it, huh?” After a pensive sip, he asked pointedly, “Tell me, Dr. Kinney, have _you_ gotten past it?”

    Visibly paling, Brian scrunched his eyes and bit his lip. He tugged Justin closer, needing to have him near, and then nearer still. He ran his hand up and down his arm with rhythmic strokes intended to soothe. But he wondered who he was trying to calm more.

    The skin was soft, almost fragile under his fingertips. Of course, nothing was further from the truth. Justin was tough and courageous. He knew what he wanted in life and had the ambition and tenacity to achieve it. Brian snickered inwardly. If anyone had doubts, all they had to do was look at the two of them to see his success. Yet, there were places inside Justin that were fragile and vulnerable. They drew Brian in and inexplicably made him want to protect him, to shield him from life’s cruelty. That idealistic vulnerability, a trait he himself never remembered possessing, hit its mark with unwavering accuracy. It affected him more than his pride in Justin’s accomplishments, more than his envy of his courage.

_                                          “I’ll stand by you. Won’t let nobody hurt you. I’ll stand by you.” _ _ ©Hynde/Steinberg/Kelly _

    He grappled with indecisiveness, playing a mental game of _To Tell the Truth_ , ironically dear old Jack’s favorite game show and one he always lost, drunk or sober. Fighting his natural impulse to obfuscate and denigrate, the twisted knot in his chest careened to the pit of his stomach and exploded into a fluttery sensation. When he answered, his carefully chosen words were so soft, Justin had to strain to hear them.

   “No. No, I haven’t. Is that what you wanted? How the fuck.... I mean, I don’t know if I....” He gave a tortured shake of his head against the kaleidoscope of blood red colors and images flashing in his brain. “Fuck! I’m not there, okay? I don’t know if I ever will be. Maybe someday. All I know is that we have to try. We have to keep fucking trying!If we don’t, if we just give up, then they win.” He shrugged. “That’s all we can do. That’s all we have to hold on to.”

_"All we can do is just survive. All we can do to help ourselves is stay alive.”_ _©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_

     Justin stared at him for several seconds before turning his gaze toward the windows. The naked honesty both unsettled and calmed him. Knowing the high cost Brian paid within himself for the surprising revelation, he swallowed repeatedly to dislodge the sudden lump in his throat. And although he ached to think that particular night still haunted him, he was also strangely comforted. The vulnerable admission from a man who prided himself on flawless control was an all-too-rare occurrence, and its genuine openness seemed to heighten their bone-deep connection.

     He rested his head on Brian’s chest, the steady heartbeat providing a tranquil balm for his own hammering rhythm. Longing for serenity, he inhaled his scent like much needed air and snuggled deeper into the cocoon of strong arms, wanting the feeling to last a little longer. He didn’t know what the future held for them or for him. Maybe this was the best he was going to get—acknowledging they didn’t have all the answers, didn’t have a magic fix to make everything all right. But the important thing was that they were doing it together. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was honest. And right now, it honestly felt pretty good.

_You crumble and fall, never realizing you almost lost it all._

_But unlike Humpty Dumpty, he’s there to make you whole,_

                                                             _To pick up the pieces and mend your tortured soul._

_FINI  
_


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